


Confirmations

by StAnni



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: F/M, Implied Relationships, Light Angst, Past Relationship(s), Post-Canon, Post-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-23
Updated: 2018-11-23
Packaged: 2019-08-28 01:58:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16714363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StAnni/pseuds/StAnni
Summary: She takes a moment before she answers, her eyes grazing over him and he can almost feel it – the contempt there, the bitter confirmation “Yes. I’ve seen her.  I see her.” She says quietly, her tone detached.  “Sometimes, I think she remembers you.” It’s cruel and Bruce knows that on some level it is deserved but he still looks at Selina, eyes narrowed, in blatant resentment. “It’s been six months, and you tell me now.” She shrugs as she glances at her empty glass, apparently unaffected by his ire, “told you it was going to be a surprise.”





	Confirmations

At the beginning, after the fires and the first war – the war that was fought in the open, the honest war, and when they could, in fact, begin - Selina drove them, in a stolen car, to the quarry near where the skeletal remains of Wayne Manor post-fire stood like an elephant’s graveyard. Bruce watched Selina take a running start, jump into the dark abyss, the dark water, with abandon.  
Bruce watched from the side – amused, but cautious. Selina emerged, sleek and wet and Bruce laughed “You’re crazy!” to which she answered, as-a-matter-of-factly before going under again “Crazy, in love.”  
Love.

The beginning was four years ago, and at twenty two they were utterly disconnected, their bravado boundless and overshadowing any aspect of sobering reality.   
Bruce had finally taken off his jacket, stripped off his clothes and jumped in after Selina. Even back then, Selina was always the first to jump. He had pulled her to him in the water and in a lull of kisses, turned them to the shore and pushed her down on the dark sand. Without the fear of some villain lurking in the shadows, under the open, new sun, it was different – it felt more tangible, weighted and as he moved inside of her, attempting to slow his heart, the blood rushing in his ears, she had arched her back, and whispered his name in a sigh, followed by “I love you.”   
Love.

He waits for Selina now in a bar that she chose and the location of which she only sent to him ten minutes before. He knows that she will be, at least, half an hour late. She will need to make sure that he enters alone, she will have to establish that he wasn’t followed, that Gordon is not holed up in the wings somewhere close, ready to send his guys in the moment that she goes in. She will have to ensure some safety exits, at least three – knowing her, and she will have to have had time to hide weapons all over. He gave her his word that history would not repeat itself but she had hung up the burner phone without letting him finish his sentence. Between them, where there had been an entire life, a childhood, a relationship of trust and commitment, there was now nothing – a dark abyss of doubt and loathing. 

She comes in from the door that leads to the men’s room – one of her exits, probably – and sits down a seat away from Bruce at the bar. Her hood is up and her eyes are serious – she is all business. Bruce watches where she sits and realizes that between them there must be some sort of weapon taped to the bottom of the counter. He doesn’t greet her but waits, she was the one who called the meet after all. “How are things?” She asks without interest. He regards her and then shrugs “Busy.” and she nods, raising her eyebrows – interest possibly peaked somewhat - “Yeah, I bet.” 

As she leans over the counter her jacket lifts a few inches and Bruce and see the scar on her right hip – which he looks away from immediately. She doesn’t notice, or maybe she does, maybe she doesn’t care – they have so many scars that they have given to each other, and retrieves a glass, and then pours herself something light colored and, from the smell of it, dangerous. “When is Gordon getting here?” and he smiles, because one thing Selina does not do, is let go of a grudge. “I told you I wouldn’t tell him” he says and she answers, almost by force of habit “You say a lot of things.”

He waits for her to sip her drink and finally look at him – dead-on. It is unnerving, every single time now. “I want to make a proposal” she says, plainly, green eyes fixed on his “it’s to you, well – the real you, and Gordon.”

By “real you” she means the opposite of the truth, but he doesn’t see the point in splitting hairs and besides, that argument has been grounded down to dust between them. He nods “Am I going to have to write this down?” he asks, watching her - seeing if she will react to banter. She doesn’t, her face is even “It’s simple. I can give you Keane, and all you need to put her away – and in exchange I want a clean slate.” It’s not simple and Bruce smiles, looking away. “That’s not a proposal.” because it really, really isn’t. Offering to hand over the moon in exchange for the sun – it’s not a proposal.

She is not deterred and she takes her hood off and unzips her jacket, her tell that it’s time to get comfortable - she is ready to talk, to discuss, to argue. “He doesn’t want Barbara anymore?” She asks innocently and Bruce answers, with a shrug “Of course. Of course he does, for her safety and everyone else’s” At “her safety” Selina smirks and he catches it. He waits for her to look at him “Say that it is an actual, doable, reasonable proposal – Selina,” she listens “what do I get out of it?” He tries to sound cold, to sound like not benefiting from the capture of a Barbara Keane personally would be an actual constraint – and she doesn’t buy it, clearly, and shakes her head, the smirk growing into a cold smile.  
“See I was going to do this anyway, Bruce – believe me, bygones and all that. A gesture of goodwill. But you’ve become so…” she pretends to search for the word “…cocky, that…you know…fuck it, why be nice? But let me break it down for you, I’ll give you Keane, and by default, I’ll get your girl back.” 

Bruce stares at her, shocked by her words and considering the history of betrayals behind them. He evens his response, feeling his muscles tighten as he tries not to move, not to blink “Rachel’s dead.”  
The truth is not complicated. The truth is that parents still send their children to school, despite the fact that there are about seventy psychopaths still out on the streets of Gotham. The truth is that in the Narrows you can order and buy a fresh human heart within a week. The truth is that Rachel is dead and nothing can bring her back.

Selina regards him with an expression he cannot read, there is no victory there and there is no sympathy either. Her voice is quiet, the lilt of sincerity clear – it is her voice whispered in the darkness of their bedroom long ago, her voice when she pleaded with him a little more than two years ago -her voice when she confessed. It is chilling. “She’s alive, Bruce. She’s with Keane. Maybe she’s not the Rachel you remember, but it’s her.”

*  
When the rebuilding first started in Gotham, Bruce took Selina to a restaurant he was looking to buy and to open in memory of his parents.  
She was uncomfortable in her dress and she didn’t like wearing the diamond necklace out he gave her for Christmas, their first real Christmas since the war. Her small hand on her neck, hiding the shimmer of the necklace, she looked at him as they walked inside “Can’t we just get a burger?” and he chuckled, pulling her along by the hand.  
The night was a horrendous mistake, from ordering champagne at the bar to the starters through to the desert. When they got to the car the gloves were off and the only fight they have had since, that was worse, was the fight they had the night that she left him.  
But in that argument, even though it did not break them – yet, Bruce, to his surprise, saw a very bleak and deep-seated distrust in Selina. 

She demanded to be let out of the car minutes after having gotten inside, and Bruce, also reasonably pissed at how she behaved herself during the course of the night, pulled over but refused to let her out – insisting that they deal with the problem then and there. “What are thinking, Selina?! You think I’m going to let you out now? In the middle of the night, in the Narrows?!” and she had yelled back, slamming her fist against the passenger window “I want to be in the Narrows! I don’t want to be in this fucking car or in that ridiculous restaurant! I hate it there, and I hate it in here, out there at least I know who I am!” And it was wrong, and in a rush of frustration that he said “You’re better than that! You’re better than the trash out there!”

The way that she looked at him, the hurt, stayed with him for days. 

Quelled, he shook his head, looked away “I didn’t mean it like that.” He said, flustered but she grabbed his jacket, made him look at her – the green of her eyes flashing with the passing headlights “You are a liar, Bruce, but you only lie to yourself.”

Bruce had pulled away from her, gotten out of the car himself and attempted to steady himself, catch his breath, diffuse the intensity. When he got back into the car Selina was staring out of the window, her curls against the head-rest, eyes distant. “Selina, I love you.” he tried, desperately trying to find their groundwork, their baseline. But she shook her head and didn’t look at him “That’s a lie you tell yourself too.”  
Love.

*

Upon hearing that Rachel is alive, Bruce looks away from Selina. He knows that she is telling the truth – he knows that, despite the anger that she has towards him, despite the karmic justice that has not yet evened out his sins against her, she would not lie about this.

“So you’ve seen her?” he asks, his voice low, his heart pounding. 

She takes a moment before she answers, her eyes grazing over him and he can almost feel it – the contempt there, the bitter confirmation “Yes. I’ve seen her. I see her.” She says quietly, her tone detached. “Sometimes, I think she remembers you.” It’s cruel and Bruce knows that on some level it is deserved but he still looks at Selina, eyes narrowed, in blatant resentment. “It’s been six months, and you tell me now.” She shrugs as she glances at her empty glass, apparently unaffected by his ire, “told you it was going to be a surprise.”

Bruce nods, he nods without any further consideration. “We’ll take the deal” and Selina gives him a look, a half-smile in surprise and uncertainty “Don’t you think you better check with your better half?” And Bruce looks at her, firm and assured “I’ll make him take the deal.” To that Selina smiles, and it is not the smile that he expected, it is not amusement at his bravado or even sarcastic – it is sad and silent. Bruce looks away from her. Her voice is level “And you’ll let me go, the both of you, you and the cops?”  
He nods without turning to her. He doesn’t want to see her reaction, he doesn’t want to see relief or disappointment there. Their bed was made some time ago – beating themselves against the walls of each other will not make a difference.  
“If you give me Rachel, I’ll stop coming after you. I’ll make sure Gordon follows through too.” 

He hears the barstool move and the zipper of her jacket go up. She taps the table as she leaves, no doubt a signal to some spy that she is heading out. “Barbara will be at Pier nineteen on Tuesday at eight. I’ll drop the paper trail at the old tree, along with the love of your life.”  
Love.

Bruce stills at the mention of the old tree. He had forgotten about it and he is surprised, shocked, that Selina remembers. When he looks up to ask her why the old tree, she is gone.

*

The night that Selina left him, or rather, the afternoon, Bruce spent the better part of the evening purging the house from any memory of her – burning the photographs they had together, throwing her discarded shoes and garments in a box, drowning out any thoughts of her with more and more whiskey. To him, that was the worst night of his life – that was, until Rachel drowned a year later.

But the night of the restaurant, after their fight in the car, Bruce had pulled up to the Manor and gotten out, walked around and opened the car door for Selina.  
It had been a hard night, but it had not, by Bruce’s recollection, broken them.

The drive back, since having pulled over, had been quiet. Selina got out of the car and had hesitated before she followed him inside. “You’re not coming in?” he asked, tired of the silence. She regarded him mutely and then nodded, yes, she was coming inside.  
Inside the house she went to the guest room, where she kept her clothes, Bruce assumed to change out of the dress that was clearly still a problem for her. He heard her took a shower and he waited in the main bedroom – hoping she would join him there, as she usually did. And she did, hair wet and eyes guarded, but red-rimmed, she climbed in next to him, and looked at the ceiling.

“There is an old tree in your garden, to the east at the back, some kind of fruit grows on it.” She said into the darkness. Bruce nodded, he knew the tree, “The one with the carvings?” he asked – talking about the heart he carved for Rachel, a friend he had when he was a child, a daughter his father’s colleague would bring around when his parents were still alive. When his life was soft and good. 

Selina murmured in the dark “Yeah. Who made those?” She asked and he glanced at her “I did, when I was a kid.” She looked away from him then, and turned on her side, not away from him, but facing him “Thought so”.


End file.
